500 Words
by Kaikoura
Summary: Thirty-three years after the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione's eldest granddaughter has an assignment that has the whole family telling their stories- the life of Harry Potter in 500 words or more.
1. Hermione Weasley

Disclaimer- It's not mine. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------- Rain pattered softly against the windows of a small, comfortable house on a hill in the north of Scotland. Hermione sat in an old armchair by the fire, staring out at the rain-obscured countryside. She'd been hoping for more snow, but instead a week of light rains had turned the snow into slushy muck. "Grandma?" A call from above interrupted her thoughts. Footsteps clattered on the stairs as her eldest granddaughter, a raven-haired fourteen-year- old, tumbled gracelessly into the room.  
  
"Yes, Portia?" Hermione asked, pushing aside the Christmas cards she'd been intending to write.  
  
Portia twirled a black curl around her pinkie finger. 'I've got this essay to write for history." Hermione smiled slightly at the hint of an American accent in the girl's voice. That had come from her father. "It has to be about." she fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a sheet of crumpled notepaper, "a witch or wizard who greatly affected history."  
  
"That's a very broad topic," Hermione commented.  
  
Portia nodded earnestly, making her curls bob madly. "I think that Binns is sick of setting essay questions, so he's just giving us free rein to write what we like."  
  
"Who have you picked?"  
  
Portia sat on the arm of the chair and grabbed a Christmas cookie off the plate Hermione had baked that morning. "Well, everyone else picked people like the Founding Four, but I wanted someone more recent. Someone who I don't know as much about." She had a folder in her arms. She opened it, to reveal a thick file of photocopies and photographs. "I've chosen Harry Potter. Do you know anything about him?"  
  
Hermione nearly choked on her cookie.  
  
"Are you okay Grandma?"  
  
Hermione nodded, swallowing painfully and reaching for a glass of milk. "I'm fine dear. Just a bit surprised by your question," she breathed deeply, "I should get dinner ready. Could you go find your grandfather and Titania? I think they're down by the pond."  
  
"But what about Harry Potter?"  
  
"After dinner dear. There are some old things in the attic you might find useful. We'll go up and look together."  
  
Satisfied, Portia disappeared out the dor, grabbing an umbrella and knocking over the rack as she went. Hermione felt sick as she watched her so cheerfully wander into the rain. She had dreaded the day Portia would ask about Harry. She was so innocent and sweet, so untouched by the bitterness and premature maturity that had cursed Hermione's generation. Of course, Portia knew that something had gone on; something terrible that was never spoken about. She had to know, for there were hints everywhere - her grandfather regularly awoke screaming in the middle of the night, one of her great-uncles had been left catatonic by the trauma, and Hermione herself became hysterical when left alone in a dark room. Voldemort wasn't taught about in school, out of respect for the fact that many of the victims of his reign were still alive. When they were at rest and his ripples of influence had subsided, it would be added to the syllabus. Hermione's reverie was interrupted by the clatter and crash of her husband and two granddaughters returning to the house, dripping wet and laughing. She tried to smile at them, but she knew her face would be pale and drawn from worry. "Look at you. Ron, if you don't start picking sensible times and weather conditions to take the girls out in they'll catch their deaths."  
  
Ron smiled sheepishly. "I know. But I promised Titania I'd take her to see the new pond, and at this rate it will still be raining when it's time for her to go home." Hermione tried to smile again. "Okay. Go and change your clothes."  
  
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Ron Weasley watched his wife carefully over dinner. She had burnt it beyond edibility, but hadn't seemed to have noticed. "We should go see Virginia tomorrow," she said suddenly. Ron scowled. "Do I have to come?" "Don't you want to see your sister?" "Its not my sister I don't want to see." "Grow up Ron," she snapped, rising from the table. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Later, she and Portia carried down three boxes of her old school things and spread them out in front of the fire. They sent five year old Titania up to watch a Disney movie in the master bedroom. Ron and Hermione sat together on a lounge while Portia rifled through the boxes. 


	2. Virginia Weasley Malfoy

"In the very unlikely event that he is home, YOU WILL BE POLITE," Hermione informed her husband firmly.  
  
"You can see the future now?"  
  
Portia interrupted a potential fight by holding up the album. "Is that Victor Krumm?" she asked innocently, pointing to a photo of Harry and Victor engaged in conversation. On Quidditch, if Hermione recalled correctly.  
  
"I thought you got rid of all your photos of Victor," Ron said quietly.  
  
"Well, I wasn't going to ruin a perfectly good photo of Harry because of your stupid insecurities about my ex-husband," Hermione snapped, leaning over to flip to a less controversial page. She was out of luck, for the next page had a picture of Harry and Hermione kissing on a beach in Majorca.  
  
Portia's eyes widened. "Wow grandma! You got around!"  
  
Hermione laughed, wondering how her own grandmother would have reacted if she had made a comment like that. "Not really darling. I've only had three boyfriends, and I married two of them."  
  
Portia looked like her mother when she was surprised. Hermione sighed sadly. She missed her daughter terribly. Despite her rather promising genes, Nerissa was a squib. Hermione tried her hardest to make her feel accepted, but she had always felt inferior, especially when her younger sisters, Jessica and Ophelia, came along and showed signs of being witches at an unusually young age. As a result, she distanced herself from the family and became contrary and rebellious. One day when she was sixteen, as her family celebrated the arrival of Ophelia's Hogwarts letter, Nerissa climbed out her bedroom window and disappeared. By the time anyone realised she was gone she had a job cleaning toilets on a cruise ship and was halfway to Florida. Ten years later she arrived on Hermione's doorstep with eight-year-old Portia clinging to her arm. Without a word about her absence she asked Hermione to look after her granddaughter for a month, because she was getting married and going on her honeymoon. Six years on, Portia still had an empty suitcase in her bedroom so she could pack quickly when her mother came to collect her.  
  
"Grandma?"  
  
"Sorry dear. I was just thinking."  
  
"I think grandad is having me on. He says he and Harry once fought a troll."  
  
"That's true. They fought a lot of things together."  
  
"Wow." Portia turned the page. It was a collage of Harry with a large number of girls.  
  
Hermione chuckled. "Around fifth year Harry finally realised that since he was rich, famous, athletic and popular girls probably like him. After that divine revelation it was impossible to stop him. From left to right there's Katy, a Hufflepuff, they dated for two weeks. Next there's Katerina, he called her Kitkat. That's Alicia-Mae, she tended to simper. The blonde is Galaxerina, isn't that a terrible name. Ooh, that's Sarra. She and Harry were together six months, his longest relationship. That's Lavender, I shared a dorm room with her. And that sweet little redhead is your great- aunt Virginia, we called her Ginny back then."  
  
Ron grunted, and Hermione laughed. "Your grandfather didn't approve."  
  
"Of course, Harry was far better than what she ended up with." Ron noted, glancing out the coach window at the manor they were approaching. A single figure on a broomstick took off from the roof and zoomed towards the horizon. "He has plans for the afternoon. Big surprise."  
  
"Your grandfather, Harry and I hated your great-uncle Draco. He was a snobbish, prejudiced bully-"  
  
"Much like he is today," Ron interrupted. Hermione squeezed his leg to soothe him. She didn't want he and Virginia to ruin another set of Malfoy heirloom dinner plates with their silly spats over her husband.  
  
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An immaculately dressed girl with bobbed strawberry blonde hair and solemn grey eyes opened the door. She curtsied politely. "Aunt Hermione. Uncle Ron. Portia. Titania."  
  
"Cassandra," Portia replied, just as politely.  
  
They managed to hold the scene for three beats with perfectly straight faces. Then Cassandra's face cracked into a grin. Portia responded likewise and they dissolved into a fit of giggles.  
  
"Go on then," Hermione said, stepping behind Cassandra and pushing her out. The three girls ran off into the Weasley-Malfoy manor's extensive snow- coated yard, already making enough noise to drown out a jumbo jet.  
  
"You know they'll be covered in mud within an hour," Virginia said, appearing at the top of the stairs. She descended gracefully and exchanged air kissed with Hermione, before hugging her big brother. "What brings you here?"  
  
"Portia is asking about Harry."  
  
"What have you told her?"  
  
"Just the basics. His parents' death, his life with the Durlseys, stuff like that. Ron told her about the troll."  
  
"That's not surprising," Virginia sighed. "Why does she want to know?"  
  
"History essay."  
  
"Well, you're lucky she actually does them. I was looking through Cassandra's old school things and I discovered that for the last four years she's been digging Draco's old DADA homework out of the attic and handing it in again. With the rapid turnover of DADA professors nobody has ever noticed. I try to punish her, but I swear Draco encourages it."  
  
Hermione smiled. Draco made no secret of the fact that of his six children Cassandra was his favourite. Partly because she was the youngest and partly because she was the only Slytherin Virginia managed to produce. Her four (much) older brothers were Gryffindors and her older sister was a Ravenclaw.  
  
"I made afternoon tea. I know how you refuse to eat it when the house elves help," Virginia said, leading them up the stairs.  
  
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Already in a nostalgic mood, Hermione glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the full extent of the change the Weasley influence had wrought on the old manor. The deep shadows and chilly stone that Hermione had briefly glimpsed when Draco and Virginia were engaged were gone or hidden, replaced by pastel wallpaper and thick carpets. Candid photos crowded the walls, and Cassandra's belongings were strewn everywhere. Draco and Virginia had been together for about 34 years, since their 7th and 6th year respectively, when Draco had been coerced into tutoring her in Potions. His parents had frowned on it at first, but when Arthur Weasley became the Minister of Magic she became socially acceptable overnight (that wasn't an exaggeration. Draco claimed that the day after Mr Weasley was promoted his father owled him his grandmother's engagement ring with a note attached which read 'Marry her. Immediately.' The story may well have been true, for they were engaged a week later and married on Virginia's birthday, the second she was legally old enough.) On their wedding day it was almost possible to hear the cheering of the high society gossips, for it was a relationship ripe with opportunities for innuendoes and implications. It was the union of two of the best known families in the wizarding world, both of which were in danger of dying out. The Malfoys because their once extensive and powerful dynasty had dwindled down to a single heir- Draco. On the other end of the spectrum the Weasley's had incurred rather impressive debts as a result of their lack of lack of heirs (even Arthur's new job couldn't cover the debts caused by school fees, feeding, clothing, hospital bills, repairs to structural damage caused by the twins, etc.) The Malfoys needed heirs and the Weasleys needed money. Of all the families in England, it was an indisputable fact that the Weasleys were the most fertile and the Malfoys were the wealthiest. Nobody had to jump to conclusions- conclusions jumped to them. Everyone assumed the parents had discreetly arranged the match and nobody bothered to correct them. People also assumed, after nineteen years of marriage, once Virginia had provided a satisfactory amount of children and packed the youngest off to Hogwarts they would retire to separate bedrooms, preferably in different manors, quite possibly in different countries. Instead they surprised the world and disturbed their children by having Cassandra, forcing the gossips to admit that maybe, just maybe, they simply /liked/ each other.  
  
"Mum!" Cassandra screamed, tearing up the stairs.  
  
"Wipe your feet!" Virginia yelled back.  
  
"Mum, Portia says you went out with Harry Potter!"  
  
"I did," Virginia replied mildly, picking up her teacup. "As did your aunt Hermione, your Arithmancy professor and our housekeeper."  
  
"But Dad hated Harry Potter!"  
  
"Yes, but I wasn't married to him at the time, so his opinion didn't really count."  
  
"How did you get together?" Portia asked.  
  
"You're not going to put this in your essay, are you?" Virginia asked, blushing slightly.  
  
"No. I'm just interested."  
  
34 years earlier  
  
Ginny meandered around the Burrow, whistling cheerfully. She had a washing basket in her arms and was happily gathering up all the things her boyfriend had left lying around the house when he came to stay for a few days. She found a scarf under a chair, which she added to a pile that already contained a dirty shirt, two CDs, a toothbrush and a nauseatingly cute pink teddy bear. Still whistling, she went out in the garden and dumped his belongings in a heap in the mud. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ron pretending not to watch her and Charlie hanging out of a bedroom window to get a better look. She pulled a cigarette lighter, her favourite of her father's muggle curios, out of her pocket and set fire to the heap. She settled herself comfortably in a garden chair with a book, keeping one eye on the slowly smouldering fire.  
  
"You know, I think he intended to come back for that stuff," Harry said, sitting next to her.  
  
"If he wanted it he should have taken it when he left."  
  
"He was too busy trying to outrun your personal bodyguards."  
  
She smiled. "Being the baby has its advantages."  
  
"You know, I think Ron and Fred broke the English sprinting record when they heard you begin to cry."  
  
"You were right behind them."  
  
"Of course. I'm always happy to do my bit for my favourite Weasley woman."  
  
"Are you sure I'm your favourite? My mother is a much better cook than I am." She kicked the shirt to get it to burn better. "I hope you didn't give him any permanent scars."  
  
"That's a very charitable thought for a jilted woman."  
  
"I was more worried about you getting charged with assault."  
  
"How sweet."  
  
"Well, I'm your favourite Weasley woman and you're my favourite Potter man. I have a right to be concerned about your wellbeing."  
  
"I'm the only Potter man."  
  
"What about Benjamin Potter, first year Hufflepuff?"  
  
"He isn't related to me."  
  
"He's still a Potter."  
  
"Well, he's not a man."  
  
"And you are?"  
  
"Yes, I am!"  
  
"Prove it!" she clapped a hand over her mouth. "No, don't! I didn't mean to say that." She laughed.  
  
Harry laughed too, then without warning kissed her.  
  
She stared at him in surprise. "Why'd you do that?"  
  
"I had to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I had to kiss you now or we'll never get together."  
  
Present  
  
"How long did it last?" Cassandra asked, enthralled.  
  
"Two weeks and two days."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"We were incompatible. For a long time after we broke up Harry stayed single. I began seeing Draco shortly after we went back to school, but Harry didn't get a girlfriend until a few months before he graduated."  
  
"Who was that girlfriend?"  
  
"I'll take over," Hermione volunteered.  
  
33 years earlier  
  
Hermione toyed with her food idly, feeling depressed. Involuntarily she glanced down the table at Ron. They'd been sitting apart for weeks, after their break up, and it was painful; considering that for years he'd always been by her side. She should have known that dating a friend was a bad idea. Suddenly, she heard yelling. The Slytherins had insulted the Hufflepuffs, and the Huffs were mad. One of them picked up a plate of mashed potato and hurled it at the offending Slytherin. Within seconds the dining room was a warzone. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs united against Slytherins, Slytherin fought back and the Ravenclaws threw food at each other because they didn't have a problem with any of the other houses but didn't want to miss out on the fun.  
  
Snape jumped to his feet. "STOP AT ONCE!" he roared.  
  
"Oh, have some fun for once Severus," Dumbledore suggested, upending a jug of pumpkin juice on his head.  
  
Thinking quickly, Hermione escaped by lifting up the long tablecloth and sliding under the table. She sat in the darkness, chuckling and listening to the battle above. She jumped when someone whispered "lumos". In the sudden flare of light she saw Harry's pale face and sighed.  
  
"You scared me," she whispered.  
  
"Sorry. They've all gone crazy above." With a sound of disgust he combed some pumpkin out of his hair with his fingers.  
  
"It's the stress getting to them. You've got some sauce on your chin," she reached out and wiped it away with her thumb.  
  
He grinned suddenly. "I suppose it's just a bit of fun."  
  
"Is there someone under there?" a Gryffindor hollered, twitching the tablecloth.  
  
"No!" Harry replied. He grabbed Hermione's hand. "This way."  
  
They crawled the full length of the table. It sagged and groaned alarmingly above them because of people standing on it. When they stopped for breath, Hermione began to laugh uncontrollably.  
  
"You think its funny, do you?" he grinned.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"We'll get found if you don't keep quiet. If I get a bowl of beans in my face I'll blame you." He smiled evilly.  
  
"I know what will shut you up."  
  
He kissed her.  
  
Someone lifted the tablecloth. "A bit of privacy, please, Harry yelled, pulling it back down.  
  
So much for not dating friends.  
  
Present  
  
Virginia found an old trunk in a cupboard. In faded lettering it was marked 'Harry James Potter'. "I kept his stuff in the end," she explained. "All the more appropriate candidates to inherit it were too distraught to go pick it up, and I didn't want it to be forgotten in some storeroom."  
  
Hermione felt her chest tighten as Virginia unlocked the case. Inside were all his clothes, which still held the faintest scent of the deodorant he used. Virginia carelessly tossed aside his clothes, pausing over a pair of black and white satin boxers. "Remember these Hermione?"  
  
"Mum! That's disgusting!" Cassandra shouted.  
  
Virginia put them aside, but for just a second it felt like Ginny was back. "Here's his school books. You can read them if you like Portia. You can't, Cassandra. I don't trust you with other people's school work." Hermione plunged her hands into the trunk. She rummaged around until she found an old cloak. "The invisibility cloak. Remember the time he forgot he was wearing it and went to DADA?"  
  
Ron grinned. "We had a new professor. He thought he was having a schizophrenic episode and booked himself into St Mungos the next morning."  
  
"That shouldn't be rotting in a cupboard. Portia, why don't you take it? It belongs on the back of a Hogwarts student."  
  
Something clunked on the roof.  
  
"Oh god, he's home," Ron said.  
  
"Ron!" Hermione warned.  
  
"I will be polite," Ron recited.  
  
The skylight scraped open and Draco's legs appeared. He leapt nimbly to the floor, and paused when he saw what they were doing.  
  
"The Harry Box," he said.  
  
"Draco, we-" Virginia started. Draco just shrugged and left the room. A minute later they heard his bedroom door slam. 


	3. Fred and George Weasley

A/N I apologise in advance for any mistakes I've made. Its been a while since I've read the books- I'm waiting for #5 before I start reading them again.  
  
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Hermione Krumm (nee Granger) stood in the centre of the street, oblivious to the men and women running past her. She didn't even react when a fireman stopped and shook her. "Miss, you're going to have to leave the area. Miss? Miss!" Gred and Forge's was burning, and she couldn't take her eyes off it. In her hands she clutched a bag of sandwiches that Fred's girlfriend had sent her to give them, because the shop was too busy for them to go buy lunch. Her nose burned with the stench of smoke, melting rubber and boiling potions. Fireworks exploded inside the shop, lighting it up with green, blue and red flashes. The flames were slowly staining the enormous shop window black, eating away at the curtains and leaping from item to item in the window display. It wasn't until they began to lick at the blue cardboard notice, so joyously placed a few days earlier, that Hermione began to scream.  
  
8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888 888888888 She was still screaming when she woke up more than three decades later. The door flew open and Portia barrelled in, leaping onto the bed to protect Hermione from the bumps in the night. Light flooded the room as Virginia and Cassandra rushed in, each bearing a lamp. "Hermione?" Virginia asked sleepily. "It's a boy," Hermione moaned.  
  
"What?" Portia asked.  
  
"Huh?" Hermione was fully awake now, and staring around at the assembled family as if she'd never seen them before.  
  
"You said-"  
  
"Okay, I think its time for everyone to go back to bed," Ron interrupted.  
  
"No!" Portia yelled.  
  
Ron groaned softly. According to the clock it was five AM, he'd just had a nightmare of his own and Portia was about to throw a tantrum. He wondered if it was too late to become a born again drinker. "How about I make some breakfast, since we're all up?"  
  
Ron moved around the kitchen silently, trying to be quiet out of respect for Titania and Draco, who were still sleeping. He was making pancakes. He was good at two things- chess and blueberry pancakes. Hermione was drifting around in the background, wrapped in her enormous green dressing gown. "Dreaming about the fire again?" he asked, cracking an egg one handed while reaching for the milk.  
  
"Mmm hmmm."  
  
"You know, I saw young Johnathon in the park the other day. Not that he's so young anymore- he's over thirty now, and has a son of his own. His mother has remarried you know, a librarian from some private school in Italy, and they have two children." Ron prattled, beating the mixture with shaking hands.  
  
"Its still not fair," Hermione noted.  
  
"True," Ron agreed, deflating slightly. "Its definitely not fair."  
  
*Ron groaned as he heaved the box off the shelf. How could trick wands be so heavy? "Weasley! What am I paying you for?" George shouted from somewhere in the front of the shop.  
  
"My job description reads 'Official Punching Bag'. I've been meaning to talk to the union about that one," Ron shouted back.  
  
"Just get those wands out here already!"  
  
Ron obeyed, muttering under his breath. He'd thought that working for his brothers would be fun, but they took great joy in torturing him now that their mother couldn't intervene. As his employers it was their right to treat him like dirt in fact. Fred and George were both standing by the counter, looking out the front window with identical grins plastered on their faces. Ron recognised those grins- it was their patented 'we've thought of something new to do to Ron' look.  
  
"Can you put that box in the window please Ron? Beneath the notice," Fred ordered.  
  
Ron dropped the box in the middle of a display of fireworks. The sun was shining through the notice, and he stopped to read the words again. "It's a boy. Johnathon Ray Collins, 6 pounds two ounces." Fred and George's other lackey, Ray, had recently become a father.  
  
Ron was aware of George and Fred watching him very carefully. It was quite unnerving. When he looked up, out the window at the street beyond, he realised what had earned him the close scrutiny. Hermione was walking towards the shop, swinging a sandwich bag.  
  
Ron turned away from the window without saying anything. "What else do you want me to do before my lunch break?"  
  
"We want you to go out and talk to Hermione," Fred said.  
  
Ron shook his head. "She doesn't want to talk to me."  
  
"Then why is she standing there staring at you?" Ron risked a peek out the window. Hermione had indeed stopped walking, and was frozen on the spot, watching him through the window. She appeared to be calculating her chances of getting away without him seeing her.  
  
They hadn't spoken in five months. It had nearly killed him, not writing, not running to Bulgaria after her begging for forgiveness, but it would have hurt him even more to arrive and find her and Krumm living in marital bliss, so soon after Harry's death.  
  
"As your employer, I order you to go talk to her," George tried.  
  
"We'll fire you if you don't," Fred added for good measure.  
  
"I don't like this job anyway," Ron argued.  
  
Fred and George each grabbed and arm and heaved him bodily towards the door. Ron gave up and walked out with the gait of a condemned man. In the doorway a young man in a cowled black robe brushed past him, in a hurry.  
  
He'd forgotten how pretty she'd become. It hit him like a punch in the stomach, leaving him unable to do anything except examine her face, her large sad eyes, the bottom lip that she had been nervously chewing on. She had Harry's Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck, and it was tucked into a long, heavy suede jacket that almost but didn't quite conceal her expanding waistline.  
  
"You're." Ron finally managed. Hermione nodded, looking at the ground. "When.?"  
  
"Any day," she said.  
  
"You shouldn't be travelling then."  
  
"I had to see you. I need you to forgive me."  
  
"How's Krumm?"  
  
"I left him. Yesterday."  
  
"I forgive you."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, beginning to cry. Ron hugged her, and would have started crying also if something hadn't exploded behind them. Fright made him squeeze her so tight she gasped in pain, then he released her and spun on his heel.  
  
"Fred! George!" he screamed, running back to the burning shop.*  
  
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"But I don't understand. Why would one of the remaining Deatheaters decide to set fire to Fred and George's shop?" Portia asked Virginia, coming down the stairs into the kitchen. Ron jumped, spooked by the odd coincidence. They'd been talking about the exact same event he was remembering.  
  
"Well, it wasn't just a joke shop honey. Seriously- four staff just to run a moderately successful shop? Gred and Forges was used as a base for Aurors to meet when You-Know-Who was still alive. There was a tunnel underneath the storeroom floor. That fire killed seven people, most of them Aurors."  
  
"So it was vengeance, for the death of. him?"  
  
"Sort of. But it was also to protect themselves from being hunted down and sent to Azkhaban. They never did find who set the fire. Mmm, pancakes!"  
  
A/N- Tune in next time for the conclusion, and to discover exactly what became of Harry. 


	4. Hermione Potter?

* A warm breeze drifted across the beach, lifting Hermione's long brown hair away from her warm neck for a moment. It was the first time they had visited the beach house in Majorca- Harry felt uncomfortable about using a home that he knew the Dursley's wouldn't have wanted him to have. It was almost ironic that Harry was now the sole possessor of all the Dursley's beloved material possessions. He owned the beach house, their car, shares in Mr Dursley's company, the contents of their bank accounts and the charred rubble that was once a house in Privet Drive. Harry had been out with Hermione all night, and arrived home early in the morning to find half the population of Hogwarts gathered around the smoking ruin of the house, mourning his passing. Once the mess had been sorted out, he managed to establish that You-Know-Who had attempted to simply attack and kill him while he slept, and had been so enraged at finding him gone had torched the house. The Dursleys were asleep at the time. They felt and heard nothing, a fact that comforted Harry. He loathed them with every inch of his being, but wouldn't wish suffering on anyone. Harry Potter, as their nephew and foster son, was indisputably (although Aunt Marge tried repeatedly to challenge the decision) their next of kin.  
  
"Its beautiful here, isn't it?" Harry noted, interrupting her thoughts. He wandered up behind her and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her gently towards him so her back was resting on the warm skin of his chest.  
  
"Mmmhmmm." she managed.  
  
"You know what?" Harry murmured, running his left hand through her damp, tangled hair. "This would be a great place to get married."  
  
"You think?" she asked, wondering if he could hear her heartbeat speeding up.  
  
"I think. Of course, there are a few details missing. I'd have to put up a marquee for the guests to stand under, for example. The Weasley's would fry on a beach like this. And there's one more thing needed to complete the picture."  
  
"A bar?" Hermione twisted her arms behind her so that they were resting around his waist. It was an awkward movement, but the closeness to him made it worth any discomfort.  
  
He chuckled. "That, and I would need to find someone silly enough to agree to marry me."  
  
"I'm sure just about any witch in England would jump at the chance," she murmured, letting go and turning to face him. When she looked in his eyes, she saw why he had chosen to stand behind her whilst broaching the subject. Despite the nonchalance in his voice, and the jokes, he looked genuinely terrified. His eyes were wide behind his cheap glasses, and his skin was even paler than usual, despite having spent most of the day outdoors.  
  
He shifted his hat nervously. "That may be true. There's just one problem. There's only one English witch worth marrying, and I don't know how likely she is to jump."  
  
"Only one way to find out," Hermione's chest tightened. He wasn't kidding.  
  
"Marry me?" he flushed a deep red once the words were finally out, and stared at the sand.  
  
"We're not old enough to get married," Hermione noted, biting her lip to stop from screaming. Her knees were trembling, and she had to grip both his hands to stop her own from shaking.  
  
"We will be after we graduate. Next year, at the very end of summer when the evenings are starting to cool off, we'll both be old enough. Hopefully by next year You-Know-Who will be nothing but dust, and we'll both have nothing to worry about except each other, and making sure our kids are far more attractive and smarter than Draco and Ginny's are."  
  
Hermione laughed, but because she was biting her lip it came out as a strangled gasp. "Okay," she giggled.*  
  
"What was his middle name, Grandma?" Portia asked, doodling in her notebook.  
  
"James. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Just trying to come up with a good title."  
  
Hermione smiled into the middle distance, only half listening as Portia prattled on about what she's learnt from Virginia. She was standing beside the mantelpiece, gazing at her wedding photo.  
  
*The church was beautiful. No one could deny that they'd picked a lovely location for their wedding. All day Hermione had to try and pay attention to girls drifting over to her, gushing about how perfect the ceremony had been, how lovely the flowers were, what a great band they'd chosen.  
  
"You look beautiful, Hermione," someone simpered. Hermione was swathed in yards of white satin and tulle. It had lace and beads and a long, floaty veil that felt as soft as mist. It was expensive, it was excessive, and everyone loved it.  
  
She and Ginny had chosen a white cotton sundress they had seen in a window in Hogsmeade, and a white wide brimmed hat. Then Harry had died, and she packed them away.  
  
The dinner was formal and hot. Roast chicken, herb stuffing and three vegetables. Creamy white sauce was poured over everything, and wine specially chosen to complement each course.  
  
"The best meal I've had in a long time," someone sighed, satisfied.  
  
The caterers had sent her brochures. She and Harry had sat up late in the common room, laughing as they tried to pronounce the fancy French dishes. Eventually they had found a caterer who could do a simple meal- fresh fruits and sandwiches, packed into picnic baskets. The perfect meal for a beach wedding. But Harry had died, and she'd packed the brochure away.  
  
Their best man made a beautiful speech, one not soon forgotten. Bags were opened and handkerchiefs passed around, as a toast was made to those who could not be there.  
  
"A beautiful sentiment," someone sniffed.  
  
Ron was going to be the best man. Fred and George helped him write a speech that would also not soon be forgotten. When he read them the draft Harry and Hermione were in stitches, laughing so hard that they cried, for a different reason. Then Harry died, and it was packed away.  
  
A hush fell over the formerly boisterous crowd as the new Mr and Mrs Weasley took to the dance floor for the bridal waltz. Hermione gazed into her newest husband's eyes, trying not to be disappointed.*  
  
"So, he was on the quidditch team?" Portia asked suddenly a few hours later.  
  
"Yes dear. Virginia told you that," Hermione noted. She tried not to grow snappish, but the constant discussions of Harry were leaving her feeling raw.  
  
"Did you ever ride a broomstick, Grandma?"  
  
Hermione shrugged. "I'm not keen on heights."  
  
*That hadn't mattered one night. Harry had arrived in the middle of the night, hovering beside her window. They weren't supposed to ride during the holidays, but for once in her life Hermione couldn't care less about the rules.  
  
The only thing that mattered was the two of them, zooming along with the warm summer breeze. She sat behind him, side saddle on the broom, her arms wrapped around his waist for balance and her chin resting on his thin shoulder. Their combined weight meant that the broom couldn't rise very high, so her toes were skimming a hairs breadth above the asphalt of the road. But the encumbered broom could still go at an exhilarating speed; zipping so fast that Hermione's breath was sucked away.  
  
They had pulled on the invisibility cloak so that they wouldn't be noticed by motorists, and it was an eerie feeling, being able to see people who couldn't see them. Harry pulled them up alongside a sports car, so close they could hear the sleepy conversation between the two inhabitants. Hermione had made him pull away, embarrassed at invading their privacy.  
  
And finally the sun began to rise. In the chilliest hour of the night, dawn, they changed course and sped towards Privet Drive. Emboldened by her presence, Harry thought they could steal some hot chocolate from the kitchen before he took her home.  
  
They arrived, and found nothing remained but ashes, rubble, and grieving wizards.*  
  
"Grandma? Grandma? Honestly, you're so vague lately," Portia said.  
  
"Sorry. What was your question?"  
  
"How did it all end, Grandma? I have oodles of information about the first seventeen or so years of his life, then I hit a brick wall. Nothing at all is mentioned of his death, or anything he did after graduating from Hogwarts."  
  
*Hermione took a deep breath. Today was the day. She would definitely tell him today. Everyone was so joyful, so happy, so carefree, rushing about in their graduation robes, signing shirts, hugging, crying. It was a good day to tell him.  
  
"Hermione!" Harry bellowed as he saw her. Hermione didn't get a chance to launch into her pre-prepared speech as he swept her into a hug, lifting her up and spinning her around.  
  
"You're happy today," she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck, mindful of his battle wounds. She would tell him in a minute. For now she would just enjoy his mood and savour his embrace.  
  
"Of course. This morning I woke up and came to the most incredible realization. Nobody needs me anymore Hermione. Voldemort is dead, dead and gone and soon will be forgotten. I have absolutely no responsibilities, beyond giving my speech today." Hermione's heart sank. She smiled weakly, trying to share his joy at his newfound freedom. He placed her feet back on the floor and released her.  
  
Tomorrow, she decided. She wouldn't ruin his good mood today. Tomorrow she would tell him that in a few months someone would need him very much indeed. *  
  
"Yes, yes, he was happy on graduation day. Skip ahead to what I need for my essay, Grandma."  
  
The words stung Hermione. Portia didn't realise how important that day was, so she couldn't blame her for being blasé about the turning point of her life, but it still hurt.  
  
*Hermione clutched her certificate, grinning inanely as they stumbled through the school song. Harry's joy was infectious, and she couldn't help but smile. She was a graduate- she had survived the NEWTs, in fact they had almost been fun. At the end of the summer she would be married. She felt all her worries evaporate. They had plenty of money, job prospects, a house to live in.  
  
Harry brushed against her legs as he made his way into the aisle to give a speech. She put a hand on his shirt to stop him, and pulled his head down to kiss him, not caring that everyone in the Hall had stopped to stare at the display.  
  
"Love you, Harry," she whispered. He smiled, but Snape cleared his throat before he could reply. Dumbledore quickly hushed him, but Harry became embarrassed and continued his way to the stage.  
  
Hermione remembered thinking how nervous he must be. His face looked so pale, and he was shaking. She silently wished him luck as he climbed the stairs.  
  
"I'd now like to welcome the Head of Gryffindor, Harry Potter, to-" Dumbledore was cut off by a horrified scream from the front row. He turned from the podium in time to see Harry tumble down the few steps, coming to a rest sprawled on the floor.  
  
Hermione couldn't get to him. A crowd formed around him instantly, and she was left standing in the aisle, screaming. She felt shaking arms close around her, and for a moment she hoped it was Harry, come to tell her it was all ok, he'd just stumbled.  
  
It was Ron, comforting her and pulling her away.*  
  
"He died at the graduation ceremony?" Portia asked.  
  
"Instantly," Hermione confirmed, closing her eyes. If she concentrated she could still feel his arms around her, lifting her off the ground, hear his laughter, smell his deodorant.  
  
"Was it murder? An unforgivable curse?" Portia demanded.  
  
"No," Hermione whispered. What had they said? She tried to remember Pomfrey's words, but she hadn't been able to pay attention on the day. "That was the stupid thing. You-Know-Who spent years trying to kill Harry, eventually got killed by Harry in the attempt. And all he had to do was wait. Harry had a heart problem- there was a history of it on Lily's side of the family. Perhaps the excitement or the final battle with You-Know-Who aggravated it, perhaps no matter what he was doing or what type of life he lived he would have died on that date. We'll never really know." Hermione couldn't stop herself from crying now. She left the table, and didn't see the thoughtful look on Portia's face.  
  
*Hermione drifted through the crowd of people, all of them offering trite words of comfort, as if they only had to find the right combination of words and the pain would go away. They were wizards, weren't they? All they had to do was utter a few words and problems were solved. Ironing could be done, whole meals could be cooked, injuries healed and doors opened. But there were no words that would bring back the dead, and Hermione wished they would stop trying.  
  
Everything she knew held a memory of Harry. She couldn't put on her favourite dress, walk to the post office, read a book or brush her hair without some sweet memory assailing her, leaving her staring into space with a dreamy half smile on her face. It unnerved people, and soon they began to veer around her. She liked it better that way- the crowd at the funeral were annoying her, and she felt more comfortable with three feet of personal space around her.  
  
One person didn't avoid her. He had flown from Bulgaria to farewell a young man he had become firm friends with over the years, and was undeterred by Hermione's active attempts to drive people off. Victor Krumm enveloped her in a bear hug, and allowed her to sob on his chest for nearly three quarters of an hour. Hermione could see Ron out of the corner of her eye, the disapproval obvious on his face. "Poor, poor Hermione," Krumm mumbled in his thick accent, still mispronouncing her name after all these years. "You be sad, ok? You're allowed to be sad." That was what she needed to hear. No mouthed phrases about fate, or destiny, or everything working out in the long run. No promise that time heals all wounds. No judgement, just permission to feel what she was feeling. At the wake Hermione half heard Krumm suggesting she come have a holiday in Bulgaria with his family. She felt herself nodding. She could hear Ron's angry exclamation, his rude refusal as the invitation was extended to him also. She thought she needed to get away, to go to a place where a memory of Harry wasn't hiding behind every rock and tree, but Ron didn't understand.  
  
She married Krumm a month or two later, she wasn't really sure as she was incapable of knowing how much time was passing. She was in a fog for months, and it actually seemed like a good idea. She desperately needed to salvage part of the fantasy life she'd been building- marriage, house, job and baby. She stayed with him for several unhappy months, before giving up and leaving.*  
  
"Are you ready Portia?" Hermione hollered. She was standing in the hallway, loaded down with Portia's school case, ready to return her to Hogwarts.  
  
"One moment, Grandma," Portia appeared, holding a piece of parchment. She held it out to Hermione.  
  
Hermione read the first paragraph, the lump in her throat quickly subsiding. "This is very good, Portia. But I thought you were doing it on Harry Potter?"  
  
Portia accepted her essay back. She shrugged, running her thumb over the title- 'Albus Dumbledore'. "I did. But I couldn't make it work. For you and Aunt Virginia, talking about Harry was such an intensely personal, emotional thing. But when his life was pinned down on a page, just facts and dates, it felt wrong."  
  
Hermione smiled and ruffled Portia's hair. "Ok. I'm sorry you did so much work, only to have to redo it."  
  
Portia just smiled, and picked up her case. "Back to the grind, huh?"  
  
When they were halfway to the front gate, Portia stopped suddenly and looked at Hermione quizzically. "Can I ask you one last question?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Portia began to fidget with a button on her coat. "I've been looking at the dates you gave me. Harry's death, your wedding to grandfather, my mother's birthday. I can't make them add up properly." She took a deep breath. "Ron Weasley isn't my real grandfather, is he?"  
  
Hermione looked at her eldest granddaughter in amazement. She didn't realise how quickly she was growing up. Standing there, with snowflakes settling on her thick black curls and eyelashes, brushing them out of her large green eyes, she reminded Hermione so much of her grandfather.  
  
The End 


End file.
